


Restart

by CommonNonsense



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Angst, Fluff, Friends With Benefits, Friends to Lovers, M/M, Sexual Content
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-01
Updated: 2018-02-01
Packaged: 2019-03-12 10:43:46
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,121
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13545702
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CommonNonsense/pseuds/CommonNonsense
Summary: Hanzo knows he should be satisfied with what they have, but that doesn't stop him from wanting something else. Eventually, even his self-restraint will not be enough.





	Restart

**Author's Note:**

> A while ago, we had a fun Tumblr discussion about the two being FWB and Hanzo letting slip that he has feelings for McCree. And by "fun," I mean "horrible and upsetting and I had to fix it."
> 
> Thanks, Tumblr folk.

Hanzo fucked up.

He would like to say he only did so recently, but he knows his real mistake was four months ago, when this whole thing began. A series of mistakes, really--a breadcrumb trail of his idiocy, marking the path to his eventual self-destruction. 

He’s reminded of this fact again as he lets McCree back him against the door to his dorm, tilts his head to let McCree kiss a line down his neck. He’s always been fond of this particular activity, but tonight the pleasure is overshadowed by the deep ache in his chest. 

“Was lookin’ forward to this the whole way home,” McCree sighs against his throat. His hand slides down Hanzo’s front, fingers dipping under the waistband of his pants. Hanzo bites his lip. He should be doing something with his hands, contributing somehow to what they are doing, but all he can seem to do is hold on with his arms around McCree’s neck. McCree does not seem to notice.

Until a couple of hours ago, McCree had been gone for two weeks out on a mission in Egypt. They had not spoken during, except for a couple of brief emails in the first few days before radio silence, and Hanzo had missed him fiercely the entire time. More than he knew he should miss a friend.  _ Much _ more than he should miss someone who regarded him a good friend and an occasional lover--and nothing else. 

McCree called it “friends with benefits.” Hanzo didn’t call it anything, though he enjoyed it for what it was: a chance to bed someone a couple of times per week, without the expectations of a relationship or the awkwardness of one-night stands. And McCree was a good friend, kind, surprisingly quick-witted in conversation, understanding about the events of Hanzo’s past but never pitying. Hanzo had never been one for meaningless sex, but after ten years of utter solitude, even he craved someone’s touch, and it might as well come from someone whose presence he actively enjoyed. It didn’t mean anything.

Until it did. Until one month ago,when Hanzo had watched McCree leave for his own dorm and he had been sideswiped by an aching, almost irresistible urge to pull McCree back into his bed and keep him there. Until he started spending hours awake after McCree had fallen asleep beside him, longing to press himself against McCree’s body and simply lay there together, or to wake him up with a soft kiss. Until he realized that something had changed during those first three months–that instead of keeping himself at a distance, instead of maintaining a casual relationship alongside their friendship, he had gone and fallen for McCree instead.

In retrospect, it was always bound to happen. He had always liked McCree more than anyone else on the Overwatch team, always thought of him on a separate level than he did the others. He had been fooling himself thinking that nothing would come of it, and now he was trapped in an agonizing limbo: to continue with this charade, taking what little he could get while never being satisfied, or to end it and have nothing at all.

He is too much of a coward for the latter. 

“I can hear you thinkin’,” McCree says with a chuckle. He pushes his hand under Hanzo’s pants and wraps his hand around his erection, giving a firm stroke. Hanzo groans softly, the thoughts instantly scattered from his head, and McCree laughs again. “We’ll fix that, don’t you worry.”

“Apologies,” Hanzo says. He takes a deep breath, grounding himself back in the moment. The ache in his chest does not subside, but he can ignore it. He has to. 

He unwinds his arms from McCree’s neck and finds a grip in the front of his serape, unwinding the wide garment from his shoulders. McCree’s hands slide up his flanks, catching the bottom of his t-shirt and rucking it up. Hanzo fumbles with the buttons of McCree’s shirt, uncharacteristically clumsy, and swears when he reaches the bottom and forgets to untuck the shirt from McCree’s jeans. McCree laughs again, but it is cut off by a pleased hum as Hanzo parts the sides of his shirt, slides his hands up over the softness of his belly, and squeezes his pecs. He leans into Hanzo, grinding against Hanzo’s thigh, and the dual stimulation has him biting his lip on a suppressed moan. Hanzo wants to kiss that lip, draw those noises from McCree and swallow them down for himself. He almost misses when McCree starts speaking again. 

“What were you thinkin’ tonight?” he asks breathlessly. 

“Anything,” Hanzo replies. It does not matter to him, as long as it is McCree. 

“Yeah? ‘Cause in that case, I’ve spent the last two days thinkin’ of you fuckin’ me until neither of us can walk straight, if that sounds good to you.”

Hanzo can’t stop himself from inhaling sharply. McCree underneath him, body bowing off the bed in pleasure, limbs wrapped around him to pull him as close as possible, gasping Hanzo’s name as though he were the only thing that mattered--the idea has decided appeal. 

“ _ Yes _ ,” he says, and McCree grins with predatory anticipation. He leans back just an inch, putting just enough space between them that he can work both his hands between them. 

“Shit, I missed this,” he breathes, groping for the button on Hanzo’s jeans.

“I missed you,” Hanzo says, unthinking, and freezes in the process of peeling McCree’s shirt from his shoulders.

McCree stops. He lifts his head. His brows scrunch together slowly with dawning confusion. “You missed me?” he repeats, a strange smile on his lips, as though Hanzo had told him a joke he does not quite understand. “That’s a bit odd to hear from you.”

“I–” Hanzo starts, then stops. He should brush it off, or lie, say he missed the sex too, but the words don’t come. His stomach runs cold, his arousal doused under an icy wave of terror.

Seconds stretch into a long, tense moment. Hanzo stands there stupidly, clutching McCree’s shirt in his hands. McCree’s smile drops further. 

“Hanzo,” McCree says quietly, “Is there, um, something going on?”

Hanzo looks away. He knows there is no taking it back now--even if he manages to make an excuse, McCree is much sharper than one might guess. Might as well finish the deed. “It is as I said.”

A beat passes. McCree slowly straightens, his hands falling away from Hanzo’s hips as he does. “I don’t understand,” he says. “What do--”

“I think I am in love with you.” 

McCree’s face falls. Hanzo’s heart climbs up his throat. Long, miserable seconds pass.

McCree seems to be at a complete loss. That strange smile returns, just for a moment, then disappears. He gives a single, uncomfortable laugh. “Han, I’m sorry,” he says. “This is nice and all, but–I thought this was just a casual thing, I don’t know about–”

“You should go,” Hanzo interrupts. He finally relinquishes his hold on McCree’s shirt, dropping his hands listlessly to his sides. 

McCree does not move. Hanzo turns his head away. “My apologies,” he adds, in case that is what McCree is waiting for. “This will not continue.” 

“Hanzo–”

“You should go,” Hanzo repeats, more forcefully. He stares at the far wall so he does not have to see McCree’s awful, pitying expression. “This will not be a problem again.”

McCree steps back. He bends down to gather his serape, drapes it over his arm while he buttons up his shirt to an appropriate level of decency. He picks up his hat, too, and holds it in front of his chest, fidgeting with the brim.

“I’m sorry,” he says, visibly uncomfortable and uncertain.

“Do not be.” 

“I’m just--”

“This is not your problem, McCree,” Hanzo says wearily. He swallows around a lump of emotion in his throat. “It is mine. I am sorry for making you uncomfortable. Please leave.”

McCree finally steps around Hanzo to the door, carefully avoiding eye contact as he does. “See you in the mornin’, then,” he says.

Hanzo says nothing. McCree goes.

Hanzo locks the door behind McCree, his chest heavy and aching. He hears McCree’s departing footsteps for a short time, until he is too far to be heard through the soundproofed door. Then there is only silence, and once he is certain he is alone, he allows himself to crumple against the door. 

He tells himself he is not surprised. He has come far in the last year, made strides in the direction of self-improvement, but none of it changes what he has done or who he truly is. His loneliness is his true penance. 

It does not help.

He goes to bed, eventually, facing the wall. The bed is not large, only meant for one person in a dorm, but the empty space behind his back still feels like a barren mile. 

–

Hanzo doesn’t think he’ll sleep, but he must doze off at some point, because he is startled awake a few hours later by knocking at his door.

He ignores it.

The knocking comes again, louder and more insistent. “Hanzo, open the door,” McCree calls, and there is something frantic in his voice, something that gives Hanzo pause. The last thing he wants to do is face McCree again, especially at just after two in the morning, but he cannot ignore the fearful tone in  McCree’s plea. Something else is wrong. 

Heart beating rapidly in his chest, his sleepiness forgotten, Hanzo throws back the covers and all but leaps to the door. He hesitates there for just a moment, finger hovering over the _open_ button. Then he opens the door. 

“I missed you too,” McCree says immediately. 

Hanzo stares. 

McCree looks unwell. His hair is ragged, like he’s run his hands through it a number of times, deep lines of exhaustion frame his eyes, and his entire frame seems to bow under the weight of his own body. His hat is in one hand, crumpled slightly in his grip. His other arm cradles a cellophane-wrapped bundle of flowers.

It takes a shamefully long moment for what McCree said to even penetrate Hanzo’s thoughts, but before he can say anything,  McCree barrels on. 

“I’ve been thinking,” he says. “I–I missed you the whole time I was gone, too. I thought I just missed havin’ someone to talk to or the sex or something else, but it was you. It was always you, it’s always  _ been _ you. And I didn’t really realize it at first, not until you said what you did. I thought I was fine with what we had goin’, but it always felt like something was missing, and now I know why.”

Something seizes in Hanzo’s chest. He does not know if it is hope or fear, or some combination of the two. “What are you saying?” he asks carefully.

McCree swallows with visible effort. “I’m sayin’ I’m in love with you, too.”

Hanzo opens his mouth to speak. No words come. McCree shuffles awkwardly in place He glances down and seems to suddenly remember that he’s carrying flowers, and shoves the bundle at Hanzo. 

“Here,” he says stiffly. “Um. I honestly thought this was gonna go a bit different, but these’re for you.” A ruddy blush colors his cheeks as he looks down at the flowers. “Shit, they’re terrible, I probably shouldn’t’ve bothered.”

Hanzo numbly reaches out to take the flowers. The cellophane crinkles under his fingers. “Where did you even find these at this time of night?”

“Little corner store. I mighta walked a bit.”

The flowers are a little wilted and battered, very obviously the last of the pick. Still, they are colorful and vibrant, and when Hanzo dips his head to smell them, their perfume is no less sweet. He allows himself to smile, just for a moment, before reining in his tenuous hope.

He looks up again. McCree waits, nervous. Hanzo swallows hard and says, “This is . . . sudden. You told me not four hours ago that you did not feel as I do.”

“I know. It’s a mess. I feel like an ass, comin’ back after I walked out on you, but--” McCree takes his hat between both hands now, fingers tight on either side of the brim. He looks like he wants to say something else, but falters.

“If you are just doing this because you are feeling guilty--”

“No!” McCree exclaims hurriedly. “No, that’s not it, I swear.” He runs a hand through his hair, somehow mussing it even further. “Look, this is kind of a turn-around for me too. And I know it looks like I’m just bein’ indecisive, and I’m still kind of reelin’ too, but it’s not just now. There’s always been  _ something _ . It just wasn’t until tonight I really knew what it was. And now I do.”

McCree takes a deep breath. He meets Hanzo’s eye, nervous but determined. “I know you’re probably pissed at me,” he says, “and that’s fine, I deserve it, but I’m dead serious about this. I really care about you, Hanzo, and if we could just talk--”

Hanzo cuts him off with a kiss.

McCree does not immediately react, his lips motionless under Hanzo’s, and for one horrifying second Hanzo fears that he has somehow misread everything and overstepped again. But then McCree sighs softly, and tilts his head just slightly to slot their lips together. His hand comes up to gently cup Hanzo’s face, and Hanzo’s fear melts away.

Before, they had mutually agreed to avoid kissing; it had happened once or twice in the heat of the moment, a brief stop on the way to something else and never enough to be mistaken for something emotional. Now, it’s something better, a goal in itself rather than a means to an end. Hanzo can’t resist leaning up, pressing in and deepening the kiss, and smiles when McCree responds the same. The cellophane wrapping on the flowers crinkles in loud protest between their bodies, and is unheeded.

“Hell,” McCree sighs when they break apart, only to press another quick kiss to Hanzo’s upper lip. “If we’d been doin’ that the last few months, I might have gotten my head outta my ass sooner.”

Hanzo chuckles fondly. “Perhaps. But that is irrelevant now.”

McCree brushes his nose against Hanzo’s, a tiny, affectionate gesture that makes Hanzo’s breath catch in his chest. “I don’t suppose,” McCree murmurs, “you’d be willin’ to try tonight over? Better this time. Preferably not ending with everyone upset.”

“That is a bold request.”

McCree laughs, a little nervous in the face of Hanzo’s teasing. “I mean, we don’t have to. I’m not just tryin’ to get in your pants and call it good,” he says. “We probably got a lot to talk about soon, but for now I just . . . wanna treat you right, is all. Show you I’m serious.”

A thread of anxiety winds through Hanzo’s gut and pulls tight. He is willing enough to believe McCree’s intent--for now. But there is always the morning after, the chance to regret mistakes under the judgmental light of day. He knows his own feelings will be unchanged after tonight, just as they have been for months, but McCree is another story. 

“Hey,” McCree murmurs, touching his thumb to Hanzo’s chin. “None of that worryin’. If you’re thinkin’ I’m gonna disappear after this, you don’t have to worry about that. But if you’d rather I go for tonight . . .”

That is enough to snap Hanzo out of his indecisiveness. He shakes his head and grips the front of McCree’s shirt. “No,” he says, and smiles. “Stay.”

McCree grins, wide and bright, and Hanzo pulls him back into the dorm by the front of his shirt.

They fall back into bed like they have done dozens of times before, but now they take their time. Their hands bump and clash as they reach for each other’s clothing and their own, and they laugh together at their nervous clumsiness. McCree’s touches are firm and gentle, sliding along Hanzo’s hips, his thighs, his back, his chest, leaving trails of tingling warmth in their wake. Even when they finally do undress, they spend long moments simply wrapped up in one another, sharing long kisses and teasing touches. 

Hanzo half-expects to return to their earlier plans, accustomed to their rough, quick encounters, but instead McCree spends several long, luxuriant minutes bringing Hanzo to pleasure with his mouth. He has done this before and has always been an attentive lover, but never so leisurely, or with such thorough attention. By the time Hanzo peaks, he is nearly begging, and after is all but boneless with satiation. 

When he scrapes together enough energy to return the favor, it is just as enjoyable as the other way around. McCree is vocal in his appreciation of every touch. His hands stroke along Hanzo’s face, thread through his hair, grip the sheets, unable to choose a space. Endearments that Hanzo has never heard before fall from his lips without reservation,  _ sugar _ and  _ darlin’ _ and  _ sweetheart  _ between groans and filthy curses. 

After, when they have both recovered and cleaned up, their bodies heavy with a content sort of exhaustion, that thread of anxiety returns as Hanzo watches McCree dig around the clothing on the floor. Will McCree have changed his mind? Will he leave again, just as he has always done before?

McCree pulls his phone out of his pants pocket, thumbs at something on the screen, drops it on the table beside the bed, and looks over his shoulder. Whatever he sees on Hanzo’s face makes him smile with a hint of sadness. 

“Just makin’ sure that was off,” he explains, sliding back into bed under the covers. He wraps an arm around Hanzo, hand flat on his back and thumb stroking idle lines. “Not goin’ anywhere, don’t you worry none.”

“And you are certain of this?” Hanzo can’t help but ask, hating how childish he sounds even in the face of the last half-hour. 

“Hundred percent,” McCree replies easily. He presses a kiss to Hanzo’s forehead and lingers there, lips brushing skin. “Bit of a roundabout way of getting here, but I think this is gonna be so much better than before.”

Hanzo glances past McCree’s shoulder to his desk, where the flowers had been abandoned some time before. Left as they are, they will likely be well on their way to dead by morning, though he cannot bring himself to get up again to find water. Nonetheless, the sight of them lights a warmth in his chest.

“So do I,” he says softly, and feels McCree smile.


End file.
